


Fists of Fury

by lydiamartincan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Everyone Is Alive, High school Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stalking, Student Stiles, Teacher Derek, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1324009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiamartincan/pseuds/lydiamartincan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Stiles registers is a fist colliding straight with his left cheek. The second is that all bets are off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fists of Fury

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my first little greeting to the Teen Wolf fandom. I honestly have no excuse for this other than just wanting to see something like Stiles getting a little busted up in the halls of High School. I've got a bit of experience in school fights, however being a chick that has only ever fought other girls I can't really say I know, from experience that is, what these guys think about when fighting. After all, they really cant grab hair and claw, so.  
> This work is un-beta'd so apologies in advance for any obvious errors.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy my little snippet. I might expand upon this universe if it's wanted; if not then well at least we've got this bit!

The first thing Stiles registers is a fist colliding straight with his left cheek. The sudden jolt of pain running its course from the top layer of skin all the way to the other side of his face , rattling his teeth, and moving up through his head.

The second is that all bets are off. The time for talk over, signaled with a single swing and an uproar of shouts from the students around them.

He didn’t even want to fight Matt. He didn’t want there to be fists flying and people screaming, mixed sounds of horror colliding with shouts of encouragement that all meshed together into just _sound_ ;sound that at this point was barely even reaching his ears. Honestly though, what else should he have expected? That he and Matt were just going to talk this out like the civil young adults they were expected to be? That maybe Matt would just apologize and do what he had promised to the first time around. That wasn’t how things like this went down in high school. Or anywhere for that matter.

Despite the rational part of Stiles’ brain that screamed and shouted at him to back away now before this turned into something huge, he surged forward. The irrational seventeen year old boy in him running straight into the bulls horns and throwing back hits of his own.

The adrenaline that pulsed and pulled through his veins was nothing short of deafening as he felt his fist collide with Matt’s jaw.

There wasn’t even a moment to reflect. No second of wonder for how the hell it ended up like this.

No. No, he knew. Matt was a disgusting pervert who thought he could get away with trying to snap pictures of Allison in the locker room. He was a disgusting boy that Stiles had always hated, ever since his creepy stalking obsession had taken a turn for the truly unsettling back in October. He had always had a fascination with Allison, but never did any of them ever think he would stoop so low. 

When Scott had approached Matt, right after Lydia had caught sight of him bunkered down behind the first row of lockers right next to the showers, there was no fighting. No yelling. Because Scott was a nice rational person. Sure he had, at first, gotten in Matt’s face about respect and his girlfriend and morals and all of that, but Allison had been able to pull him back. Whisper to her love about how no harm was done and how she was fine.

They were all just fine. Of course, Allison did get one good slap in before everything was said and done, but that was it. There was no mass of bodies shouting or punches flying.

That is until last period, a good week and a half after the initial incident, when Stiles and Scott had caught wind from Danny about Matt hoarding the pictures. Then, that was it. Stiles was the first to jump up; he knew just from the look of annoyance Allison's face and the horror of Scott’s face that they weren’t ready to deal with this again.

Scott would do anything for Allison, that much was always clear. He would run across the ocean to fetch her flowers if she wanted authentic foxglove. But Scott was a kind soul, a humbled puppy that couldn't hurt a fly, not intentionally that is. He was the peace keeper that always wormed his way into a fight, physical or verbal, and pushed and pulled until the storm of rage had passed and settled to a tense calm that allowed whatever parties involved to turn away unharmed. Plus with Allison gripping his hand Stiles could see just how grounded, but seething, Scott really was.

That most of all was what had Stiles practically storming out of the cafeteria. He wasn’t going to let his best friend soak in his own anger without some form of justice, or let Allison bit at her cheeks in distress and exasperation.

Allison had jumped from the table and began to grab at Stiles, telling him to just leave it alone. She was practically yelling in his ear that no one was hurt and that they could just get his father, the sheriff, to handle it.

But no, Stiles was pissed. Beyond pissed. Scott had been nice. He had been an angel by not clobbering Matt into the dust after the first time. Now Matt was just stepping, no, leaping over the line like some Clarence Thomas wan-a-be.

Stiles would throw Matt’s camera into the pool if it meant getting rid of those pictures.

Stiles had found Matt by his locker down in the English wing. With a group of Jackson, Lydia, Allison, Scott, and Danny in tow it wasn’t a surprise to see the terror that surfaced on Matt’s face. It only fueled Stiles’ anger. Did this jackass seriously think he was just going to get away with all of this scotch free? Did he seriously think they weren't going to confront him about this? He must be insane.

It had started out with just talking. No yelling, no seeing red, just talking.

“Are you kidding, dude?” Stiles’ voice dropped low, raising a hand to gesture at the other as he stepped closer. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Stilinski, what the hell are you talking about?” Matt’s pale eyes flickered between the kid in front of him and the crowd that was gathering behind them.

“You know what I’m talking about, Matt.” He waited a moment but when Matt stayed silent he went on. “The pictures! The pictures; you kept the pictures of Allison after Scott told you to delete them. Why? Why, because you’re some kind of sick degenerate that gets off on just how deranged he really is?”

It was at this point that people began to whisper and murmur. Some directing their concerns at Allison and others shouting for Stiles to just whack the sick-o already.

“Stiles, come on. It’s not worth it.” Allison practically hissed from somewhere behind him, grabbing his arm in a poor attempt to pull him away. Stiles ripped out of her hold, his arms crossing above his head as his tight gaze honed in on Matt once more.

That was when the punch came. Full forced smacking right into the side of his face.

“C’mon, Stilinski! Take him out!” Jackson’s shout was the last thing he heard from the crowd before everything went red and wild.

He had no idea how it happened but the next thing he knew Stiles had slammed Matt against his locker and watched as the kid slid down to the tiles. He could see the quick flash of blood just under the other boys eye before Matt jumped back up and landed a blow right into his stomach.

The pain ripping through his abdomen was nothing while his body continued to run on pure adrenaline and rage. Stiles gripped the other boy’s arm and spun it behind his back, effectively tossing him to the ground; now nothing short of thankful for the self-defense classes his father had made him take. Before Stiles could truly get his hands on the guy again though, Scott and Danny were on them, pulling at them and attempting to rip them apart.

“C’mon, guys, that’s enough!”

Instinct kicked in and Stiles fought against his friend, squirming free and jumping at Matt, ripping him from Danny’s hold and landing another quick punch to the side of the guy’s head. For just a few seconds there was nothing but limbs flailing and injuries surfacing as the teenagers continued to rip into one another. There wasn't even a moment for Stiles to just hope that the others had gotten out of swing range by now.

The shouting quickly returned, slipping in through his ears allowing him to remember the large crowd that was now huddled around them. He could see two figures barely working their way through the crowd. He paid them no mind though while Matt tried to work a punch at his jaw, instead directing his attention to the hand that gripped at his hoodie, pulling him closer to the other boy.

Just as Stiles was about to start dragging the guy back down to the floor, arms grabbed at his sides yanking him away from the other boy and holding his front up against one of the lockers.

He thrashed against the body that trapped him, fighting against the full nelson hold he now found himself in.

From what he could see one of the security guards, Gretchen he thinks her name is, has Matt pinned to the other side of the wall, just barely outside of the crowd. His nose is bleeding and there’s a cut just under his right bruised eye, and for a brief second Stile’s wonders if he looks just as bad.

“Stiles! Stiles, I’ve got you.”

The voice is familiar, whispering in his ear, but not one he can fully place right now as he continues to struggle against the hold, effectively only hurting himself more. His hips and lower body try to kick out away from the lockers not once but twice; whoever is holding him down only pushes further in, blocking whatever further attempts he can make to get away from the wall.

“Alright, everyone clear out! Nothing to see here, go back to your classes!” A tall dark woman comes into his view, waving her hands above the crowd, forcing them back and away from the scene.

“You’re fine; you’re alright.” The voice comes again, just as Stiles’ body finally begins to give in. He stops thrashing and twitching long enough to hear his own ragged breathing and palpitating heart. The adrenaline that still floods his system keeps his heart clenched and his lungs tight, the familiar signs of a panic attack causing his hands to shake and his breathing to break unevenly even more.

Soon enough he starts gasping for air and Scott and the others run into his line of vision.

“Stiles! Hey, Stiles!” Scott yells, as the body behind him relaxes, one arm coming down to wrap under his arms, pulling his own arm around broad shoulders so he can lean on the other and stand despite his shaking form.

“Stiles, hey, look at us. Okay? Breathe. Steady. Stiles?” Lydia slides into his view, hands gripping at his face.

“I can’t—I.” He gasps again. “Am trying.”

“Get him into the classroom now!” The female from before bellows over the now steady murmuring of the dissipating crowd. “You kids, get back!” Past his blurred vision he can see Miss. Morrell herding his friends back towards the lockers while he is pulled further down the hall.

“No! Let us in there, he needs us!” Allison’s shout rings clear even as the classroom door swings shut.

“Stiles? It’s over now, alright? It’s going to be fine.”

He feels the desk on his back as someone places him on the ground. His eyes flicker around the room, focus holding briefly on different things from posters to desks. The pain in his chest increasing with each breath he pulls in. A hand comes down to cover his own, gripping at his fingers. A second hand cups at his cheek, pulling his face forward where his eyes can focus, albeit weakly, on a face.

Derek Hale’s face.

“Just focus on me.”

“I can’t--.” Stiles grips his hand back, doing as he’s told despite the denial in his own voice. Keeping his gaze locked on Derek’s as the shuddering breaths continue to rip through him and his shoulders tremble. Derek raises their joined hands, pressing Stiles' palm to his chest, right over his heart. Stiles can feel the steady rhythm through the fabric of his collared shirt; a beat Stiles has come to know perfectly just as his own.

“Breathe with me, okay? You’re going to be fine.” Derek sucks in deep steady breaths, eyes pleading for Stiles to follow with him. And Stiles tries to. He does, but at the beginning he sounds almost strangled as his heart clenches and his throat goes dry.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s trying to piece together exactly what just happened. The first punch, the quick blows and the screaming crowd. The first half of the fights practically a blank. He remembers throwing back the second punch and then a flurry of motions and quick jolts of pain and then he’s hurling Matt into the lockers before Scott grabs at his waist, trying, and failing, to haul a murderous Stiles away on his own. He remembers seeing a quick flash of Derek pushing through the crowd and practically jumping on him. Pulling him away from Matt’s fists of fury and holding him away from everyone else. Hiding Stiles from not only his enemy but himself as he did nothing but thrash about and kick like a temperamental child, banging his knees and torso against the metal lockers as if his life depended on finishing what Matt started.

All the while he can hear Derek continue to murmur gentle words to him, pulling him away from his panic. Stiles’ fingers grip at Derek’s shirt, focusing everything he can on trying to match their heart beats.

Slowly reality starts to flood back in. The haze around his vision clears and the pain throughout his chest begins to ease, now allowing the aches of the fight make themselves known. His bottom lips feels excruciating and the left side of his face feels like it’s on fire.

Derek’s grip around his wrist begins to loosen as he catches the flicker of awareness that ghosts over Stile’s face. The feel of his thumb caressing Stiles' unbruised cheek promising comfort and safety that send waves of relief flooding his system. 

“Are you okay now?”

Stiles nods vaguely, gazing around the room once more. “--... Yeah.” He winces, and reaches up to touch where his lip has split and the blood is dripping down his chin right onto his white t-shirt. Of course. He can’t see himself, but he can tell just from the sympathetic look Derek is giving him that he looks probably just as terrible as he feels.

There’s a second of silence before the inevitable comes.

“What the hell were you thinking?” The older man pulls back his hands in favor of gently gripping his chin, turning Stiles' head slowly to see just how bad the damage really is.

“Matt’s a dick, that’s what I was thinking.” His voice comes out quieter than he had hoped, his fingers now reaching up to run through his mess of hair as he leans his head into Derek’s hand, allowing him to just turn and inspect him as he pleases.

Judging by the incredulous look on his old English teacher’s face, Stiles can tell that wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

“Look, the guy was stalking Allison! He took pictures of her, Derek, pictures of her in the freakin’ girl’s locker room.” He explained. “I didn’t think the guy was going to go psychotic and punch me!” Mostly because Matt never seemed like the guy to resort to violence. But, _obviously_ , he was wrong.

“With you coming at him? The king of flailing limbs and jerky movements?” Derek deadpans. Stiles scoffs at that, dragging his knees up.

“My moves are legendary.” His mouth turn up into the best grin he can manage with his lips practically burning, and leave Mr. Hale to interrupt that as he pleases.

Just then the door swings open and the school nurse, Mrs. Greenberg, storms in and shoos Derek away. Stile’s catches his eye though, showing equal parts concern and obvious irritation at the woman’s sudden appearance.

The woman gently places a finger under Stiles’ chin and holds his face up.

“Well," She begins after a moment of analysis. "At least you look better than Mr. Daehler. Though that lips going to hurt for a few days.” The woman rummages through her first aid kit while Miss. Morrell enters the room, striding over towards Derek and speaking to him quietly. “You kids, always thinking you can just work things out with your fists. Honestly what am I going to do with you lot?” The woman smiles faintly at Stiles. He can only bring himself to huff out a failed laugh at that.

“You could let us all duke it out in the courtyard. Business would be booming.” He fires back. Mrs. Greenberg rolls her eyes with a chuckle before setting to work.

She wipes the wound with an alcohol swab, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain out of the teenager, before pulling out a bag of ice and wrapping it in a few of the worst paper towels the school has to offer and pressing it to his mouth; motioning for him to hold it in place.

“We’re heading down to the office, Mr. Stilinski, and I expect you to be able to sit beside Mr. Daehler without a repeat of today’s events.” Miss. Morrell begins from where she is standing beside Derek, arms crossed over her chest and that automatic look of superiority plastered to her face. “Do you understand?”

Stile’s glances between the two women in front of him before nodding. “I’ll be on my best behavior so long as _sir tight pants_ keeps it _in_ his pants.” He doesn’t miss the eye roll and forced down smirk Derek actively hides.

“Do you understand the implications of what’s going on here, Stiles? You might have broken Matthew’s nose.” She fixes Stiles with a deadly glare, as if she can place the blame for all the world’s problems on him because of Matt’s poor nose.

“He swung first! I was acting in self-defense, you think I’m going to let some jackass like Matt hit me and stalk my best friends girlfriend and not fight back-“

“Stiles.” Derek cuts him off, tone warning as he shots him a look Stiles could only describe as solemn.

Miss. Morrell speaks up again once Stiles has settled back down. “I expect you, the sheriffs son, to not act like a heathen." A brief pause settles through the room before she speaks again. "You too, Mr. Hale. As one of the first faculty on the scene he’ll want to talk to you.” Derek nods, bending down to help Stiles back onto his feet. Only then does she turn and begin making her way for the door, ushering the others to follow after.

He isn’t shaking anymore, but his body still feels weak after working itself crazy off of pure rushed energy. Both women walk ahead of them as Stiles keeps the bag of ice pressed to his lip, Derek’s arm moves up behind him, hand squeezing his shoulder in an attempt at reassurance Stiles isn't entirely ungrateful for.

Being physically hurt is one thing, but anticipating the talk he and his father are going to have after word of this gets out just sends a smaller wave of panic through his system.

“If it’s any consolation,” Derek has leaned towards him slightly, right as the other two have exited the room leaving them momentarily alone, “the rugged look works for you.”

Stiles pulls back, squinting at the older man. His gaze quickly working over the completely smug look Derek is sporting. He isn’t an idiot though. Despite what Derek may say sometimes, Stiles knows him and he doesn’t miss the concern that still holds steady in his eyes. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“It wouldn't be the first time.”

Stiles chuckles just as they pass through the door, following still behind Nurse Greenberg and Miss. Morrell. A few students still lingering in the halls whoop and holler as Stile’s walks by, Derek continuing to gently guide him through the halls, avoiding any attempted high-fives or lingering camera phones.

Scott and Allison are stood at the end of the hall watching as the group of faculty and one student moves towards them. Scott smiles sadly at him while Allison does the same. She’s thankful though, he can tell by the gentle twinkle in her eye and the brief gleam of teeth in her smile.

A shudder rips through Stiles at the thought of how many other looks and messages he’ll probably get for the next few weeks. He’s guessing there will be some sort of video of the fight posted by tonight, the Sheriffs kid laying smack to the perverted Locker Room Stalker. Deep down he knows it’ll only take a week or so for everyone to forget and move on, but he wonders _when_ and _if_ his father is ever going to let him live this down.

Derek just squeezes his shoulder again, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on Stiles' shoulder. It’s a small gesture, one that could easily be over-looked by the occasion passer-by; but one that Stiles finds more comfort in than ever right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Clarence Thomas is an Associate Justice to the Supreme court, who in 1991 was accused of Sexually Assaulting employee Anita Hill.


End file.
